


You'll Never Know What Hit You

by Abbie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mirakuru, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slade puts into action his plan to corrupt Felicity while Oliver is forced to look on; Felicity herself is the only wrinkle in the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You'll Never Know What Hit You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr.

Felicity arched her back on the metal table, straining against the belts pinning her wrists, ankles and hips. Head tipping back, neck a taut curve, she bared gritted teeth and released a frustrated scream.

"Now, now, love," Slade said, tone mockingly soothing, as he circled the table to stop at her shoulder, reaching out a hand to roughly stroke her hair away from her face, a tender gesture distorted by malice. "Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself." The hand on her cheek lightning-quick switched to tightly gripping her jaw, forcing her to meet his eye—hers watering and burning with anger. Lowering his face inches from hers, he hissed, "That’s _my_ job.”

On the other side of the table some twelve feet away, tightly bound and gagged, Oliver shouted something, muffled around the strip of canvas between his teeth, and Slade straightened, looking across at his captured once-friend and smiling, smug and cruel. “Isn’t this a picture, Oliver? I thought and thought about what I should do with your girl, here, just _what_ I could do to her to hurt you like you deserve. And I’ll admit,” He grinned, the curve like a knife edge, “I came up with quite a list.

"But this one, kid? I could see from watching she was a helluva spitfire. Loyal as they come. Saw somethin’ in you, somehow. I thought, what could hurt you worse than to see this bright, pure little thing corrupted?" He turned his eye back to Felicity, ran his gaze like a filthy hand down her body, deliberately lingering on her heaving chest, with too many buttons on her sleeveless, floral-patterned button-up popped in the struggle that had brought her here; on the flared, pleated purple skirt that rode too high on her thighs, wrinkled and awkwardly draped. "Lot of fun to be had with a sweet, young girl like this."

Oliver’s screaming intensified, almost distinguishable into words—all of them curses. Slade just chuckled, still touching Felicity nowhere but that hand holding her jaw. “But I realized pretty quick: this one? You could break and violate her body every which way, and it wouldn’t do the job.” He lifted his other hand, tapping a fingertip hard against Felicity’s sternum. “Nah, it’s _here_ _'s_ the real ticket. And _here_.” He tapped again at her forehead. “That’s what makes her important to you: how she feels about you, how she sees you. Ruin that, ruin _her_.” He looked back up, staring right at Oliver, his single eye a burning lamp of hate. “Ruin _you_ like you ruined me.”

Oliver struggled, uselessly, and Slade smirked.

At that moment, utterly fed up, Felicity shifted her chin and sank her teeth into the flesh of Slade’s hand, clamping down on the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

Slade swore viciously in surprise and jerked his hand away, bloodied, shaking it a little and frowning down at it as the damage healed, leaving nothing behind but a little smeared red. He returned his attention to Felicity, eyebrow raised as he looked at her contemplatively.

She spat to the side, his blood tinting her lips like the lipstick that had worn off hours ago. Sneering, she snarled, “You talk to _me_ , asshole. _To_ me, not _a_ _bout me_. _I am right here_. _I’m_ the one you’re insinuating you’d rape as revenge against another man. _I’m_ the one you think you can corrupt.” Jerking her hands in her restraints again, her voice shook, with rage, with fear, with adrenaline. “ _You talk to me_.”

Slade chuckled, cold and condescending. “Still trying to protect him, huh?”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “ _God_ , all you _talk_ about is Oliver! Are you sure it was Shado you were in love with, because you seem pretty obsessed—”

Slade slapped her, sharp but not hard, no longer smiling. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, kid.”

(Across the room, Oliver flinched to hear Slade call her _kid_ ; using the nickname he’d always bestowed on Oliver couldn’t be a good sign.)

Felicity turned her head back to glare up at him, her cheek stinging red, glasses askew. “And you don’t have any idea who you’re dealing with.”

Slade barked a short laugh. “You think I’m worried about _Oliver Queen_? Trussed up over there like a Christmas pig?” His chin rose, a hostile challenge. “I taught him _everything_ he knows.”

Felicity tilted her head to one side, leveling Slade with an unimpressed glare Oliver knew well. “I wasn’t talking about Oliver. I swear, you’re like a broken record, emphasis on _broken_.”

Slade chuckled, low and dark and promising terrible things. “You, love? I’m _definitely_ not worried about you.” He smiled wide and sharply patted her cheek, the same he’d struck before, grinning harder as she bit her lips to keep from wincing. “At least not yet. We can talk about being _broken_ later, when you’ve got proper _context_.”

He stood and walked away from Felicity, towards Oliver. “Now,” he said, still smiling; reaching Oliver, he hooked a finger in the younger man’s gag and pulled it out of his mouth. “For this, I want to hear _every_ word you’ve got to say.”

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver ground out, voice hoarse and rough. “Slade, let her _go_ , she has  _nothing to do with this_! You’ve got me, you’ve got _me_ , let her _go!_ Do what you want but _let her go!_ ”

Slade just stared at him, smile spreading slow, like creeping ice, and just as lethal. Then, he turned away, sauntering casually back over to Felicity’s table, utterly unconcerned.

Felicity caught Oliver’s eye as he looked at her, desperate and wild and furious and scared out of his mind. Her chin trembled, and she firmed it, swallowing hard as she called, “Oliver. Oliver, listen to me, whatever happens, _get out of here_ , don’t do anything stupid, just get out of here alive, okay? You hear me? Promise, I need you to promise! _Oliver_.”

He stared at her, able to give her nothing she asked for, tears slipping down his cheeks as he watched Slade round the table, dragging a hand slowly along the cold metal edge. “ _Felicity_. Felicity, I’m sorry. I’ll get you out of here, I swear, somehow, _I swear_. I won’t let him hurt you, I _won’t_.”

Slade clucked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head at Oliver. “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, kid. Those’re called _lies_. Thought you’d learned enough about those on the island.”

Oliver watched Felicity tense all over, fists clenching and jaw squaring, but she kept her eyes firmly on Oliver, her stare burning a hole in him, demanding him to _promise, promise, Oliver_.

He couldn’t.

Slade turned his back on Felicity, digging in the small, rolling cart beside her, Slade’s body blocking it from Oliver’s view. When he turned, he had a syringe in his hand, the vial filled with bright green liquid.

Oliver’s eyes went wide. “No. _No_ , Slade, _no_ , you’ll _kill her_!”

Slade chuckled. “I might. Or I might do _worse_.” Felicity turned to look at what he held, her eyes rounding in recognition and fear just as he grabbed hold of her jaw again, forcing her head to turn so that she faced Oliver.

“ _No!_ " Oliver bellowed, eyes locking with Felicity’s. "Felicity, _please_ , no, I’m sorry, I’m so _sorry_.” He tore his eyes from Felicity’s and pleaded again with Slade. “Slade, _please_ , don’t do it! Anything you want, _anything you want_ , do whatever you want to me, just _don’t do this_!”

Slade’s smile was small, vicious _,_ his eyes on Felicity’s skin as he nudged aside the wide strap of her shirt with the needle, baring her shoulder. “Oh, kid. I got everything I want right here.”

Oliver roared, wordless and helpless with futility and rage, as Slade stabbed the needle home into Felicity’s shoulder and she jerked, letting slip a sharp cry as Slade’s hand tightened on her face and he slowly pressed the plunger home, emptying the Mirakuru into her system and letting her jaw go.

And then Felicity’s spine was arching as if a bolt of lightning slammed through her, head and hips anchored on the table as her upper body arced off the surface and she _screamed_ , raw and blood-chilling, long and loud.

Oliver’s own voice gave out long before hers did, and he sobbed helplessly, sagging against his bonds as he watched her finally go still.

Slade still stood over her, eyes on the shallow rise and fall of her chest. “Well, then, kid. Still breathing.” He looked up, pinning Oliver with a viciously pleased look. “We’ll see how long that lasts, eh? Or if she’s still in there when she wakes up.”


	2. That Girl Is a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity wakes.

Oliver hung slack in the bindings that held him to the wall, staring with dull eyes across the room at Felicity. She lay on the table as she’d collapsed, almost two hours earlier, and hadn’t moved since.

At least she’d stopped convulsing. Stopped screaming.

Every now and then, panic and desperation clawed up the familiar rungs of  his ribcage to squat in his throat as he strained forward, sure she’d stopped _breathing_ ; but then her chest would rise again, the slightest lift, and he’d let his weight drop against the hard, rough leather straps wrapped around him again, and stare, timing his pulse to the shallow bellows of her lungs.

Her head was turned away from him. He wasn’t sure if this was better, or worse. He both dreaded and prayed for her to wake up. As much as a man with no faith in anything and very little hope could pray for anything.

Slade had left some time ago, smirking about giving him a little time to brace himself, to say goodbye. Rubbing in that, whether Felicity woke up or not, whatever she was, _she_ was gone now.

Oliver wanted to believe that she could pull through, at least come out like Roy, changed but herself, able to manage it. But he had seen many powerful, strong men all but _erased_ by the Mirakuru in their veins. How could Felicity, brilliant, brave, but still soft and untested _Felicity_ withstand that?

Still. He stared and willed her to keep breathing. Willed her to stay. To be stronger than… _all_ of them.

Slade returned first.

His old friend looked a little less smug—a little pissed, a little harried. Oliver’s head raised, stirring in interest almost reluctantly as Slade paused by Felicity’s table, eyes scanning her for change, then moved on towards Oliver, staring at him, that one eye burning with furious focus.

"Your little friends have arrived, Queen. Brought your pet battering ram."

Roy. He meant Roy. That meant there was also at least Diggle or Sara. Oliver couldn’t decide if he wanted them to make it through Slade’s people, or have to turn back. Could Felicity be saved? If she couldn’t was there any goddamn point to his remaining partners risking their lives?

Oliver just stared at Slade, stone-faced, giving him nothing. Slade stood inches away, sneering. “I’m tempted to let them get all the way up here. Make you watch me break them in front of you, and your little husk of a girl over there. Move’s up the timetable, scraps some rather lovely little plans. But satisfying just the same.”

In Oliver’s peripheral vision, over Slade’s shoulder, Felicity’s knee twitched.

Oliver very carefully _did not move_. His gaze stayed steady on Slade’s face, expression empty of everything, even as his heart rate spiked in—fear, hope.

Slade reached out and harshly pinched Oliver’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “When I’m finished with your little _team_ , it’s not gonna be over, kid. Next’ll be your mum. Then that sweet, ignorant little sister of yours.” Oliver’s nostrils flared, his teeth clamping on the rage that rose up his throat at the mention of Thea on Slade’s lips. “We’ll start her off by telling her all the secrets and _lies_ big brother’s been feeding her, yeah? Tell her _all_ about _Daddy_. All about _you_ , and your whore of a mother.”

Oliver bared his teeth.

Behind Slade, Felicity’s head rolled on the table; he could almost see her profile, but he’d have to _look_ at her. He couldn’t bring Slade’s focus to her.

"You won’t _touch_ _them_ ,” Oliver growled, surrendering his anger to Slade to maintain his attention. “You won’t hurt _anyone else_ of mine again, Slade. _I will carve out your other eye,_ _first_.”

Slade chuckled darkly, but the sound cut off instantly as Felicity groaned quietly. Oliver’s eyes slowly shuttered,  as Slade’s head turned in her direction, expression one of mild surprise as his finger released Oliver’s chin.

"Well, well, well. Looks like blondie’s gonna make it." Slade swaggered over to her as she shifted against her straps, brow furrowing, eyes still closed, a thin crust of blood under her lashes.

Slade began to reach out to touch her face—and instantly, faster than Oliver had ever seen her move, Felicity sat up, the strap that had appeared to still be securing her right wrist to the table flapping uselessly.

Slade made a gurgling sound of surprise, and Oliver realized Felicity had driven a scalpel into the side of Slade’s neck, presumably purloined from the medical cart still beside her.

Felicity was inches from Slade’s shocked face, her expression furious, her shoulders slightly shaking, as she growled at him through gritted teeth, “Blondie’s gonna do better than that, you sick piece of shit.”

She jerked her left wrist, the leather strap snapping easily free, and drove the scalpel deeper into Slade’s neck, torquing it as he gurgled wetly, red bubbling on his lips. “I pull this free and you start healing. I keep it here, and you have the chance to drown in your own blood.”

She reached to yank free the belt at her hips, pulling with her legs to release her ankles, the table’s supports grating harshly against the cement floor with the force of the motion.

Slade’s face finally lost its surprise, his eyebrows pulling together thunderously as he deliberately jerked away from Felicity, the scalpel pulling free with a spray of blood that painted a red arc across her shirt and skirt. He clapped a hand over the wound, stumbling backwards a few steps as Felicity stood, a little unsteady, from the table, bloodied blade held out in front of her in the basic knife-fighting form Sara had taught her only three weeks ago.

Slade snarled at her, and she sneered right back. “You thought you could use me, twist me and break me, just _that_ easy?” Felicity’s voice trembled a little, with rage—almost a sob. “Thought I was Oliver’s exploitable _weak_ spot. Destroy me to destroy him.” She scoffed a slightly hysterical laugh. “I can’t decide if you under- or _over_ estimated me.” Her jagged smirk collapsed again into a tight scowl. “No, you _definitely_ underestimated me. Pumped me full of Mirakuru and sat back to watch me _die_.”

Slade laughed, coughed harshly; but already he dropped his hand from his neck, the bleeding stopped, wound closed. “You _did_ die, sweetheart. You’ve just been _reborn_. And if you think Oliver’s gonna be _grateful_ to have what you are now, you haven’t taken a good enough look at what he did to _me_.”

“ _I don’t give a fuck what Oliver wants_!!” Felicity roared, startling both men. Oliver sucked in a sharp, pained breath at the tormented heat of her voice. “I’m _me_!! This stupid serum broke _you_ , Slade, but maybe you were _already broken_!” She sucked in a huge breath, clearly pulling herself back; Slade just grinned as her glare narrowed on him like a laser. “Maybe it’s simple. Maybe I’m the first woman you’ve done this to. Maybe you should’ve watched more Discovery Channel.”

She flicked her wrist, the scalpel in her hand flying straight—embedding in Slade’s good eye as he screamed in surprise, rage, pain. “The female is always the more deadly of the species.”

Slade fell back against the table, blinded, and Felicity hesitated just a moment before turning on bare feet and hurrying over to Oliver.

Oliver watched her close in, his jaw slack and eyes wide. Just last week she’d _improved_ to the point of actually hitting the target as Sara taught her to throw knives. She’d landed a lucky hit on Diggle’s nose ten days ago in training and hadn’t been able to stop apologizing for half an hour.

She stopped in front of him now and lifted her eyes to his, the blood on her cheeks and the tears on her lashes a macabre, heartbreaking picture as she looked at him with uncertainty.

"Felicity…" her name was a baffled breath—and she flinched.

"We need to get out _now_. He said Roy and the others are here, we have to find them and get _out_.” She reached out and started ripping at his bindings as Slade howled and shouted obscene threats behind her, and even though Oliver knew to expect it, he was still floored by her raw strength.

The way he was bound, he couldn’t help but fall against her as she tore away his bindings; she braced his weight with her slim shoulder as he did his best to steady himself, and he could feel the stiffness in her posture, the minute tremor in every inch of her skin.

It was quick work, mere seconds, and Oliver already felt the entire world pulling inside out.

“ _I’ll fucking kill you, Queen! I’ll fucking kill you both!!_ " Slade was screaming on his knees by the table, fingers groping at the handle of the scalpel embedded deep in his eye socket.

Oliver, finally free, found his feet with a hand on Felicity’s shoulder; as soon as he was steady on his own, she stepped out from under his hand, her eyes evading his.

"We need to go, now."

"Felicity—"

A cracking boom echoed in the room and a chunk of wall to Oliver’s left exploded in a haze of dust and grit. Still on his knees in the middle of the room, Slade had freed his sidearm and shot in the direction of their voices.

Felicity, pale and lips pressed in a thin line, shot Oliver a pleading glare and grabbed his wrist, tugging him towards the door.

Words would have to wait.

They made their exit quickly and quietly, Slade firing off two more rounds as he listened for them, but though his shots eerily increased in accuracy each time, he never hit them before they gained the door.

Outside the room, they hesitated, gaining their bearings, Felicity’s fingers still locked around Oliver’s wrist. They stood on a raised pathway, an expansive warehouse spread out before them over the railing. The place was in chaos.

There was a fire burning in one corner, consuming a stack of crates and crawling towards a pair of forklifts; men buzzed around this, shouting and employing fire extinguishers.

In the opposite corner of the room there was a knot of violent activity, and Felicity and Oliver made out Roy and Diggle in the midst, holding their own and dealing damage to all comers—Digg with his handguns and Roy with nothing but his fists. As they watched, Sara dropped from the catwalks overhead onto the shoulders of a man sneaking up in Diggle’s blindspot, bearing him to the ground with her thighs scissored around his neck in a chokehold.

Behind them, a loading bay door stood gaping into the night, wafting in the faint salt-and-oil scent of the docks and the Glades. The rolling metal sheet door was a twisted, busted curl curving towards the ceiling—doubtless Roy’s handiwork.

 Oliver twisted his wrist in Felicity’s grip—easy to break only because of her distraction—and slipped his palm down against hers, wrapping her hand tightly in his. “Come on!”

He tugged her to the left and they hurried along the walkway, clattering down the metal stairs they reached at the end. As they gained the warehouse floor, Felicity gasped a preemptive sob of relief, shouting across the violence and the noise, “Diggle!”

Digg swung his head around, mouth dropping and eyelids fluttering in obvious, intense relief as he caught sight of Felicity—and then Oliver, standing next to her.

Felicity started forward, and Oliver was towed in her wake, still attached at the hand. They moved through downed men like debris, and Sara and Roy clustered up with Digg, backs to each other as they watched Oliver and Felicity’s rapid approach.

Sara flung a knife, and it skimmed past Oliver’s ear; he turned his head to see as the blade sunk home with a meaty thud into the shoulder of a man who had come up at his back.

Oliver’s abrupt motion ripped his hand from Felicity’s, and she kept moving. Swearing, he moved to catch up, but not before a man on the ground launched himself up and into Felicity’s side. She went down with a surprised shout, four voices chorusing her name.

A moment later, Felicity swore and got her feet into her assailant’s gut—and launched him halfway across the warehouse.

Oliver swallowed hard, but still offered her a hand up as he drew even with her. She hesitated, but took it.

Beyond them, Diggle swore softly. “That’s new.”

"Holy shit," Roy breathed, eyes wide and brows high.

"Oh, no," Sara breathed, jaw clamping in grim despair.

Oliver hauled Felicity up, thinking distantly that she should _feel_ heavier now, and turned his head towards his team, brows pulled together like a thundercloud and mouth a thin, hard line. “Questions later. Now, we retreat.”


End file.
